


this is a promise (with a catch)

by themoonfish



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/F, Swan Queen Week Winter 2017
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 04:14:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9583154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoonfish/pseuds/themoonfish
Summary: Henry Mills begins school at Hogwarts. His mother, Professor Regina Mills, is a recently promoted member of the faculty. Naturally, she loathes Emma Swan, the terribly uncouth last-minute ministry appointed replacement for the position of Care for Magical Creatures and Emma doesn’t know why. It’s not like they were best girlfriends back in their year. Just kidding,of course they were.Written for Swan Queen Week Day 7: Creator’s Choice AU





	1. chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'm a long time reader trying my hand at publishing a story for the first time since puberty. many, many thanks to tassjab who comforted me when i was bad at pixlr and encouraged me to write a story instead. additional thanks to tassjab who lives in my home and thus must read everything i write. hope you enjoy, review, and look forward to future chapters.

"We'll have to get going soon if you're to meet the others at the boats.” The faint whistle of a train rolling into the station in the valley below carries on the breeze. “I wouldn't want you to miss the thestral carriage.  It's always been your favorite part."  His mother's attentive hands carding gently through his hair bring him back from his happy memories of their last few days together.  Swearing to make the best of the time left before the start of the new term, they spent the last week visiting all his favorite spots around the village, eating lasagne with every meal for two straight days, and losing gobstones to each other until Mom had to hang their clothes outside just to get rid of the smell.  

 

"I don't suppose you have everything you need Darling?"  He was fully packed ages ago.  She knows this, having packed and unpacked his trunk a half a dozen times, wanting everything to be _perfect_ .  The fluttering and the fawning, Henry has long learned to remind himself, is just another way his mother says she loves him.  He knows that she grew up in a home where people hardly ever said _I love you_ , and when they did it had a habit of ringing hollow and false.  Mom believes in actions because those are what really count in the end, she tells him.  It's the doing that counts.  But she still won't allow him to be too sharp with his words because, ‘ _they still matter Henry, even if our actions matter more.’_  She also won't allow him to curse, not without the empty threat of consequences like washing his mouth out with soap, the overly fruity perfume-y kind that is overbearing even before you get it on your hands, the kind she only ever brings out for the guests she doesn't like.  

 

A flourish of deep purple robes brings his mother's face into focus in front of him.  For all her worry induced panicking, Henry knows her smile is genuine, can see the way it crinkles the corners of her eyes and spreads wide across her lips.

 

"I'm so proud of you." Mom beams  and he can't help but feel warm and tingly inside when he’s swept up in her gaze.  He's a big boy now, so he’ll pretend not to notice mention the tears gathering in both their eyes.  He will, however, allow himself a moment of temporary weakness.  He throws his arms around Mom’s soft middle and sags against her saying what he sometimes doesn't always know how to say with words either.

 

"I'll miss you so, so much Henry." Mom whispers into his hair.  He's at least two inches taller than he was last summer, but he still only comes up to her chest.  His mother laments this whenever she can, regaling him with stories of the days she used to hoist him up on her hip until he became insistent on walking everywhere himself.  She says he’s been very independent since before he could talk, but the occasional bullheadedness came later.  Laughingly she assures him she doesn’t know where he gets that trait from, but that it isn’t her.   _Right._

 

“Moooom.” Henry complains, but doesn’t pull away because he’s always been a mama’s boy (something mom says he _definitely_ didn’t get from her) _._ “We’ll see each other all the time.  It’s not like I’m moving to the other side of the world.”  Mom smiles indulgently and pulls back slightly to get a good look at him.  If he isn’t careful she might burst into tears—or worse—start wiping invisible smudges of dirt off his chin with wetmomfingers.

 

“I know Henry, but you’ll have to bear with me for awhile if it feels like you are.  I’m your mother, so it’s my job to miss you terribly, even when you’re just down the hall from me.”  She sighs dramatically.  “I suppose you’ll have your own life now Henry, your own friends.  No more Saturday morning cartoon brunches and no more chocolate frog Wednesdays,  Zonko’s Sundays, and certainly no more reading together  about what happens next to Kamala Khan.” Henry’s eyes widen like Saucers.   _No Ms. Marvel?_ She wouldn't dare to be so cruel. “Eleven year old boys are _much too old_ to be caught reading comics with their mothers aren’t they?”

 

Henry is sure his mother is kidding—mostly—but his face grows long at the thought of having to give up their comfortable life together.  He had been so excited to start the term, it hadn’t occurred to him how much everything would change.

 

“Mom?” Henry says, young face serious and grim while Regina unsuccessfully hides her smile.

 

“Yes mijo?”

 

“I’ll _never_ be too old for chocolate frog Wednesdays.”  He insists emphatically and Regina’s accompanying low chuckle sounds like a balm to his ears.

 

“Good.  Then perhaps we can still occasionally meet for brunch—“

 

“—and cartoons?” Henry adds hopefully.  Regina nods.

 

“And cartoons.  I also have it on good authority that the owls are very adept at delivering comic sized packages.” Henry breathes a sigh of relief and drags the back of his hand against his forehead in an exaggerated fashion.  “As for making our way down to Hogsmeade, you won’t be able to go down with the others until your third year, but I do believe I have an in with the head of school.”  She winks at him.  Henry rolls his eyes at his mother’s antics but knows he loves her all the more for it, even if he is an eleven year old boy. “I’m sure we can figure something out.” Mom reaches for his dangling hand and squeezes.

 

“I would like that.” He says softly. It’s such a clear night that he thinks he can make out the billowing chimneys in the distant village he has come to think of as a second home. “We’ll still go down to Granny’s every once and awhile won’t we?”  Henry adds with a faint pang in his heart.  Regina snorts and crosses her arms imperiously, intricate purple sleeves billowing in the wind.

 

“Every once and awhile? Henry, I’m not even sure your Aunt Ruby could last more than two weeks without seeing you. Imagine what she’d say if she could hear you now.”  Henry smiles at that, knows that his aunt can be just as stubborn and insistent as his mother.  She would probably have some pretty choice words to share, the kind mom likes to say when she thinks he isn't listening (but always is).  

 

He knows that Mom and Aunt Ruby were heroes once, a long time ago, but when he tries to picture them like the heroes etched in his books it doesn't quite match up.  Everything about the wizarding world here is just _so old_ .  It's much easier to imagine them in stories like the _Three Musketeers_ or Mom’s absolute favorite _The Count of Monte Cristo (or The Man in the Iron Mask if they were being honest and mom was never honest about that)._ Sometimes he would pretend to be heroes like them, jumping from fences and stairs and bellowing lines in verse.  On days when Mom would work in her office instead of taking him out and he could find nothing to do, he would imagine Aunt Ruby riding up to the old castle to rescue him from a fate worse than death...

 

“I think, if she could hear me, she’d say I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!” Henry spins on his heels and throws out his arms so emphatically that Regina can’t hold back the laughter now, it bursts out of her mouth.

 

“I think it would be something a bit more _pedestrian_ than that, though I applaud your efforts.  I adore your aunt but I’m not sure she is as big a fan of Sir Alfred Noyes as you are.”  Henry had spent his entire first half of Winter Break from Lichford Primary pouring over the English Romantics for a school project that his mother derided as ‘ _utterly trite, thank you very much’_  before insisting he read Lola Rodriguez de Tío, José Gautier Benitez, and Phillis Wheatley as well.  She may have also slipped in slightly more contemporary works by Neruda and Lorca—whose poetry was hauntingly beautiful even though he didn’t always understand it (or what hauntingly) meant.

 

“You’re absolutely right mom,” Henry grins sneakily, “she’s always preferred epic poetry.”  Mom, who has now caught his drift, looks at him with a mixture of awe and wonder that is usually accompanied by _Oh Henry, how did I ever get so lucky with you, hmm?_ But she nudges him with her elbow instead.

 

“You do know that Beowulf isn’t about a wolf, dear?” Henry laughs at his terribleawfulnogood pun and nudges her right back.  He thinks of the nights Ruby would spend reading Jack London to him before bed on holidays and babysitting nights, against his mother’s better judgement.  Ruby always insisted that _Call of the Wild_ was the better book, but Henry sagely knew the truth.  She had always had a soft spot for _White Fang_ , and he always liked that the Henry in the book managed to get away before being eaten by wolves in the beginning.  Though she had the occasional habit of throwing the book clear across the room and declaring it _‘totally unrealistic hogwash!’_ he always enjoyed their time spent reading together.

 

“I know.”

 

The last time he had seen Aunt Ruby during one of their ‘chill sessions’ at Granny’s, he had spilled about his jumble of feelings about being an awkward preteen finally making new wizarding friends his own age.  

 

_The hand not holding a wet rag comes up to ruffle his hair.  He doesn’t mind.  Mom says his cowlick, however adorable, is ‘a lost cause.’  Might as well let it do its thing._

 

_“You're a good looking boy Henry, you've got your mother's cheekbones. Besides, uh what is it she always says?" She asks him with an faux innocent look on her face.  Henry straightens himself up on the stool, pushes his shoulders back, and arches an eyebrow before huffing in an eerily accurate impression of his mother (that she would surely protest) ._

 

_"Henry stop stomping up the stairs like an elephant, for Merlin's sake! You have two legs not four!”  Ruby chokes on the gulp of butterbeer she tried—and failed—to steal covertly from his mug._

 

_"No!" She says beating her chest to clear her lung, "the other one!"  Henry smiles mischievously._

 

_“Oh, you mean it's what's inside that counts?"_

 

_Ruby’s hoarse laugh echoes around the pub._

 

_"Exactly the one!” She exclaims and then lowers her voice a bit. “And it is what's inside that counts Henry. You do know that don't you?"  His aunt fixes him with a rare but serious stare until he breaks down and nods along._

 

_"I know Aunt Ruby."  He responds quietly, looking down at the scratches and nicks on the worn wooden bar counter._

 

_"Good." Ruby bumps her shoulder against his.  “I would hate for my favorite nephew to be worried about something as trivial as looks or status when he has such a winning personality and a kick-ass collection of comics.”_

 

_“I’m your only nephew,” Henry groans, “and don’t think I haven’t noticed you never gave me back my latest issue of The Incredible Squirrel Girl.”_

 

_“All in good time young Henry, all in good time.”  Looking around furtively, Ruby throws her arms up on the bar and leans in towards Henry conspiratorially._

 

_“If anybody tells you any different, don’t even bother hexing them, just go in and box them in the nose like I showed you!"  But before Henry can respond a booming ”RUBY LUCAS!" can be heard from across the inn._

 

_"How is it Henry, that your mother can always hear everything I say?" Ruby winks at Henry, while taking a rag to wipe at the puddle forming underneath his still frosty glass._

 

_"Apparently not everything Ruby, just the worst things."  A silky voice reprimands.  Henry felt his mother's kiss press against his forehead before he actually saw her.  "Awww Reggie lighten up! I was just trying to instruct the young man in the ways of the world!"  Regina's smirk is so obvious that even Henry can detect it lurking from behind the cider Ruby eventually passes her without having been asked._

 

_"You leave the teaching to me Ms. Lucas."_

 

He looks on as Mom presses against the familiar raised white washed stone where everybody tells him his father lays peacefully at rest.  Her knuckles are white as she rearranges the lilies they lay on Papi’s grave once a week, one for every year that he’s been gone.  He knows that goodbyes have always been hard for her, no matter the kind.  Mom’s seen a lot of death.  She’s used to people leaving her.   She’s done her best to surround Henry with loving caring people who make sure he wants for nothing, who never go more than a few weeks before writing him or popping by.  Yet, he supposes he’s seen his own fair share of death, though he only remembers it in flashes and when he tries really, really hard.  The thestrals _have_ always been his favorite, and it’s not just because they remind him of the horses they used to ride out on the trails as a family before papi died and mom gave up riding all together.  

 

The thestrals reminded him of the careful reconstructions of flying dinosaurs in the natural history museums around the world that they had visited during their years of worldly (and otherworldly) travels before mom had accepted the teaching position at Hogwarts. It was only last year that Henry had found out the full truth about their whirlwind journeys, that they were not born out of his mother's capricious wonder—though she had somehow made every moment feel like a dream come true—but rather out of fear of the very real and truly harrowing threat of assassination against the young Mills family.  

 

When he had received his anxiously awaited Hogwarts letter in mid spring, his mother met him not with the pride and joy he had expected but with a face full of sorrow and emotions he could not put names to but swore he could feel just as acutely.  She sat with him on the floor of his bedroom, eyes shifting between Henry's face and the moving Hogwarts express train set she had charmed for him when he was a baby.  One of the few things that had followed them wherever they went back in the old days.  With their pinkies intertwined she explained to him exactly why the thestral carriages had always appealed to him.  Why, he would be one of very few Hogwarts students to see them.  It was, she told him, because he was special and precious and had seen so much pain in a few short years but somehow made the world all the more beautiful for it.  She told him that if she could protect him—shield him from inconvenient truths forever, she would do it in an instant...but she would not lie to him either.  Her mother had lied to her, had manipulated and cheated her her entire life and told her it was for her own good.  But Regina could never do that to Henry.  She would never live his life for him, for his life was—after all—his to live.  And so, she began to weave for him the beginning threads of their story, the story of the Crocodile, the Queen of Hearts, the children who had saved the Wizarding World, and the hazel eyed baby that saved her.  If he noticed that her tale might also be named for the two greatest loves of his mother's life _(after him of course)_ Emma Swan and Daniel Hector Bajardo, well, that he didn't say anything was a testament to his good raising.  

 

And if today Henry's voice is small and cracks a little when he turns to his mother and asks if his papi would have been proud of him, that Regina peppers his face in kisses, whispers nothing but assurances, and makes no mention of the way he bonelessly melts into her like a baby, is testament to her unyielding love for her son.

 

"Before you, Daniel and I had never known we could love someone so fully and deeply as we loved you.  You made us a family Henry.  And if there is anything you should remember about your father, it is that every moment he spent with you he thought of as a gift.  He couldn't be more proud of you now or ever."  The tears in their eyes aren't enough to keep the smiles from their faces.  Mom always knows just what to say to make the next steps that much less scary.     

 

"Come on Hen! Time to get the show on the road and all that old chap."  His ears perk up at the sound of his Uncle's voice and he is pulling away from his mother before he knows it--but not before she presses another _iloveyou_ into his hair.

 

With all the joy an incoming first year Hogwarts student can manage—which, in case you're wondering, is quite a bit indeed—Henry bounds up to "the finest castle grounds keeper Hogwarts has ever known and great mariner Captain Hook at your service!"  Jumping into the open arm not currently balancing a lantern with an ear splitting shriek.

 

“UNCLE KILLIAN!”  Killian winces but catches Henry safely and even spins him around.

 

“Henry.”  He returns fondly and then two share a smile, that is, until Regina’s voice interrupts the touching moment.   

 

"Some uncle you are Killian Jones.  You're at least seven minutes behind schedule if I'm to believe my eyes."  Mom's voice sounds challenging at first, but Henry recognizes it for what it truly is.  The delicate and antagonistic relationship that can only exist between two people who would do anything for each other but can—only on occasion—stand to be in the same room.  This, she explains, is what it must be like to have a younger brother.

 

"Well Regina, you're looking just as lovely as ever.”  Killian sets Henry down on his own two legs before performing an exaggerated bow in Regina's direction.  Henry can't help but begin to giggle and then even his mother with her stern face and uncomfortably stiff posture manages a chuckle at Killian's antics.

 

"Wish I could say the same for you pirate."  She returns with almost a loving affection... _almost_.  At that Killian's quick smile is soft and generous before he turns to his young ward with wiggling eyebrows.

 

"I'll have you know that I am excellent at a great many things young Henry, and one of them, despite what your mother may say, is being absolutely perfectly on schedule."  

 

"Yes, because now we're all a total of fifteen minutes behind."  Uncle Killian's eyes sparkle as he throws an arm over Henry's shoulders.

 

"Aye! But my senses tell me I was right on time."  Henry feels his face redden in embarrassment imagining anyone else walking in on his final moments with his mother.

 

"Besides lad, look up, right there in the sky!"  The tip of Killian's hook points to a bright pinprick of golden light.  "Any mariner worth his weight in salt would know that things around here truly don't get moving until that star reaches zero-oh-one-hundred, and judging by where it is now, it seems we have just enough time to steal away to the dock!"  

 

Henry turns back to see his mother watching them both with the familiar wistful look he has grown accustomed to over the years.  He wonders if now she thinks of Papi or the other woman that occasionally haunts both their dreams.  

 

"Mami?" He whispers questioningly, with the title he has not used since he was very small and they had not yet moved to England.

 

"Yes mijo?"  He can tell she itches to move to his side, wishes that she would too, but knows she is trying to work on not being a _helicopter parent_ or _a mama Hungarian Horntail_ as Aunt Ruby once called her.  Mom’s withering look would have killed a lesser werewolf right then and there.

 

"You'll clap for me no matter where I get Sorted?"  He knows better, knows his mother loves him, knows that she would bend over backwards to make even the tiniest thing better for him.  But he gets anxious when he thinks of his own mother, nearly if not practically disowned after her own Sorting ceremony, some decades before and he can’t help but wonder.  He doesn’t know when she made her way over, but one minute she was standing before him and then the next she’s on her knees before him, looking him square in the eye.

 

"Cariño,” She says soothingly, her voice a balm for Henry’s suddenly frayed nerves.  “You could get sorted into a house in Durmstrang for all I care _and I'd still_ knit us matching jumpers." She punctuates her point with a light bop on Henry's nose.

 

"Now go on! Uncle Killian has kept you waiting long enough."  She straightens out her legs, fixes Killian with a grateful stare and raises a hand in farewell.

 

Henry returns her wave and allows himself to be pulled along with Killian who has taken down the road at a clip, grumbling all the way. "Thank you Killian! Whatever would I do without you Killian? What an excellent uncle and grounds keeper you are! And of course Durmstrang is an excellent school for young men, why they made such a fine specimen out of you!"  

 

Henry is all smiles again and he can't help but think of his mother's matching grin when he remarks, “It doesn't get much better than a floating ship Uncle Killian."  Hook slows their speed to a mere trot and nearly drops his lantern in exclamation.

 

"Not just any floating ship my dear boy! THE FLOATING SHIP! A Wizarding World Wonder, the best likes of which anyone has seen—other than my great beauty The Jolly Rodger.”  Henry nearly laughs thinking of Uncle Killian’s pride and joy, the old jalopy of a house boat that sits in the Dismal Swamp and Mom’s repeated warning to ’ _be careful in there Henry! Just looking at that thing gives me lockjaw.’_    

 

“Now Henry, did I ever tell you the riveting tale of how how I once wrestled a crocodile and lived to tell about it?!”  Ever his mother's son, he shook his head solemnly.

 

"No Uncle Killian. Never. Not even once."   

 

"Well, be prepared to be amazed mate.  For this isn't a tale for the faint of heart—”

 

And as Killian rambled on as they rambled along, Henry found that he was excited to see the thestrals again after all.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos, bookmarks, and reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying Regina's relationship with Henry. It's so enjoyable to write, so expect more below and in the future lol!

If the great hall seems to her more great than she's ever remembered it being before, Regina knows it's because she's been privileged enough to openly watch her only son undergo the Sorting Hat ceremony.  She's never found it particularly engaging.  As much as she has a soft spot for the children, she's well aware how silly and harmful house divisions can be in  families and friendships.  Her first memories of Hogwarts are of nearly buckling beneath the weight of the existential crisis she had been having since receiving her letter that summer.  Mother had been quite insistent on Regina following in her footsteps by being sorted into Slytherin House.  

 

Regina hadn't minded Slytherin—in theory.  She had read about a number of their cunning, talented, but upstanding alumni who had done their part to change the world.  But at eleven years old, the thought of following any of Mother's footsteps was finally beginning to feel suffocating.  She had loved her mother dearly then, had wanted her approval almost more than anything in the world.  At the time Regina would excuse the woman anything.  She had even worn long sleeves in the dead heat of summer to keep Cora’s darkest secrets, but on some fundamental level the young girl understood she could not become her.  

 

The Sorting Hat had known what she had never told anyone, had seen it all and loudly cried “ _HUFFLEPUFF!”_ , the first true kindness she had ever  experienced and the first of many she would experience within the castle walls.  

 

Not even mother's abusive and humiliating Howler early the next morning had been enough to stamp out the dangerous seedling of hope springing up in her belly.  

 

She watches with naked adoration from the dais as Henry Daniel Bajardo Mills wiggles down from the stool and lands soundly on his two feet.  What he lacks now in height he makes up for in charming bravado when he walks forward proudly, chest puffed out, and hazel eyes just a tad greener than she remembered them being—not entirely unlike someone she once knew long ago.  She feels the old anxiety coming on, panic welling up in her throat suddenly making it hard to breathe because she hadn't ever considered that his housemates might not like him.  She hadn't ever considered the possibility that there was anyone in the world who wouldn't instantly love him, she had never known any one who hadn't, and just the thought of it left her shaking. She hadn't realized she was holding her fork in her hand like a spear until she felt steadying fingers cover her own.

"Regina."  Mary Margaret uttered softly as not to scare Regina but not garner any unnecessary attention either.  Coming back to herself, she turned briefly to look at the woman beside her.

 

"Ms. Blanchard." Regina hoarsely whispered.  With a small smile on her face, Mary Margaret gently worked the fork out of Regina's stiff fingers and laid it carefully on the table between them.

 

"I know we don't always see eye to eye Regina, but I hadn't expected you might be plotting to stab me during the opening feast."  When Regina managed a glare in the other brunette's direction, Mary Margaret laughed quietly.  "Now there's the Regina we all know and love."  Mary Margaret discreetly pushed the goblet of water Regina's way and waited for her to drink.  But before Regina can snap at the professor for treating her like a child, the infuriating woman beams at her and then follows Regina's gaze out and into the crowd of students before settling on Henry.

 

"He'll be a fine addition to Slytherin," Mary Margaret sighs contentedly, "he looks happy."  Regina can't help but nod along.  He does look happy, and it seems the others have welcomed him with open arms and quite a few hair ruffles from the older children in the house.  When the excitement dies down a bit and the next student is properly sorted, Henry looks up and gives her a megawatt smile and a discreet wave before turning back to laugh at something a second year girl—Ava Tillman she believes—has said beside him.  He looks so happy and so healthy, so unlike she had been  when she was his age that she can hardly believe she raised him at all.  

 

"He's truly in the best house to develop his fullest potential," says the Deputy Headmistress and Head of Slytherin triumphantly.  Regina frowns and shakes her head.

 

"You bunch are all the same." She mutters, stabbing at a potato with the selfsame fork, imagining longingly that it might be Blanchard's hand.  As much as Regina seriously questions the long term necessity of house assignments in building positive long term relationships and developing an ethics of care for other students, she'll be a loyal Hufflepuff until the day she dies.  

 

"Oh Regina, It looks like some things run in the family after all!" Mary Margaret smirks and pats Regina's back condescendingly.  The Hufflepuff, however, worries that if she rolls her eyes any more than she already is she may accidentally see the inside of her skull.

 

"You do realize Ms. Blanchard, that we are not blood related?" Regina huffs but Blanchard just smiles that smile all the same.

 

"Dearest sister, I've never known blood to be so important to you before—why start now?  Besides, could you be just the teensy-tiniest bit jealous that he's not a Hufflepuff like his mother?"

 

"No!" Regina exclaims vehemently. And she means it.  Her only wish is that he be happy and well adjusted wherever he ends up.  She'll take Blanchard's blabbering if it means her son gets to have the world.  Yet, she'd be lying if she said it didn't smart a bit to know that Mary Margaret would get to walk him through all the important milestones as head of house while she watched begrudgingly from the sidelines.  Then again, despite what she would have the blithering idiot believe, there's not a head of house she would trust more.

 

"I'll take good care of him Regina," Mary Margaret says as if sensing her thoughts.  She presses her hand against Regina's arm, and settles in next to her to watch the remaining sixteen students get sorted.  Regina tries to wrench her arm away but it does her no good.  If last few decades have been any proof, Mary Margaret was born a barnacle and a thorn in her side and she would rather be hogtied, doused in honey, and left in den of acromantula before she admits any affection for her evil stepsister.  But her tendency to lean into Mary Margaret when distracted conveys something else entirely.  

 

The Sorting Hat calls out loudly for He Henry's closest childhood friend Paige Jefferson.  In less than a second after she settles on the stool, the worn old thing spins around dramatically before declaring "Hufflepuff!" Well, Regina thinks watching Paige make her way down the rows of table before sitting among the black and yellow crowd.  They welcome her with a quiet enthusiasm and politely shift to make room for her.  And though she is regrettably not their head of house this year, their decorum and earnest sweetness makes her proud.  Perhaps she was more partial to the Hogwarts houses than she was willing to admit.

 

"Mary Margaret?" Regina says softly.  The younger woman hums in acknowledgement.

 

"If you get even the smallest amount of that greasy pomade you use on my new robes, I'll hex you and that that terrible bob of yours six ways to Sunday."  

 

Mary Margaret chuckles deeply and shushes Regina so they can hear the ceremony continue.

* * *

 

Regina's quill is scratching so furiously against the page that she almost misses the quiet sound of an owl rapping at her window.  The owl, she notices, wasn't a personal owl but a familiar face from the Hogwarts owlery.  Noting his snowy white fur dusted with the occasional brown and black feather, she smiled fondly and quickly grabbed a treat before granting him entry.  

 

"Barnabas, my old friend!" Regina coos gently, moving to stroking the owl's feathers feathers as it butts its head against the other fingers of her hand, clutched loosely around the treat. "I see you've sussed me out." She clucks and opens her hand to reveal Barnabas's boon.  "You can have your treat Barney, but only _after_ you've done your duty."

 

Barnabas ruffles his feathers and hoots loudly, as if in indignation, and sticks out his left foot.

 

"Come now old friend, I wasn't suggesting anything of the sort, merely that we not jump head so far we forget why you're really visiting me this evening."  She unties the hastily made but secure knots around both Barnabas's leg and the parchment and studied the deep forest green seal boldly pressed into the paper.  It was an interesting choice, a bitten apple resting stop the slowly coiling body of a slightly silvery snake.  Carefully unrolling the parchment, Regina distractedly threw Barnabas his well deserved treat. He hooted his thanks.

 

Regina made her way to the nearest candle and held the surprisingly simple note up to the light.

 

 _"underneath the Wyn arch_ — _half an hour.  don't forget what we discussed."_

 

Sighing Regina pinches the bridge of her nose and set the parchment down on her desk.  Normally she didn't cower to such unsavory tactics, but knew that this evening she would have to make an exception.

 

"I suppose I should get going if I'm not to be late," She said to herself before reaching for her cloak with a flourish.

 

"I trust you can see yourself out should you desire to join the others back in the tower."  Barnabas seemed to shake his body disapprovingly which, as wound up as she was, made even the brunette smile.

 

"Alright then, you can stay here then.  But no funny business! You know I quite appreciate having my office in relative order."  At this Barnabas had the good grace to at least bow his head, though in obsequiousness or in shame (remembering the last time he had flown around her office in such a panic he nearly shattered her favorite tea set and knocked the moving painting  of Salazar Slytherin off of the wall. )

 

"I see we've reached an understanding then."  The owl hooted in agreement.

 

"Well then, go on, enjoy yourself and help yourself to another treat as you're wont to do." After diligently making her way past the mostly sleeping portraits and statues in repose and bidding goodnight to those still awake, Regina sets down the stairs at a tear, knowing she hardly had time to retrieve the necessary package from her rooms before making her way down to the great hall.  

 

Half an hour later she is on route to her destination, and aware of just how much easier traipsing around the castle was when she was fifteen years younger.  If Professor Hood notices her heavier breathing when she finds him lingering in the main hallways, he's smart enough to keep his mouth shut about it.

 

"Professor Mills! Pleasure seeing you here at this hour."  Robin's eyes dance with mirth, but his posture remains otherwise unaffected and his arms behind his back.  While he was an attractive enough man—Roland hadn't gotten _all_ his looks from his mother—she found his four year old counterpart much more enjoyable, and, at times, a far better conversationalist.

 

"It seems I have been summoned."  She says drolly, through not unpersonably.  Robin has become somewhat of a tolerable acquaintance against her better judgement.

 

Robin smiles and pushes the hair out of his eyes. "So I gathered.  I see you also have your forfeit in hand."  

 

Though Regina's robes must partially obscure what she brought along with her, she isn't surprised that to find that world continues to travel at lightning speeds on the castle grounds. The Robin Hood she knows wouldn't pass up the opportunity to nobly gloat at her predicament.  How banally Gryffindor of him.

 

"I didn't get to where I am now without greasing a few palms, Professor Hood."  Regina tutted.  Robin laughs openly now and leans into one of the nearby columns.

 

"No. I don't suppose you didn't."  Regina is hardly a fidgeter, loathes the tendency in almost everyone but her son who she's sure can make her forgive nearly anything, but tonight she can't keep still.  Her fingers clutch at the package and she dances slightly on the balls of her feet which she prays isn't so noticeable in the sparse light and the length of her robes.  As headmistress she should care more about decorum but it has been a long night, and even the great Regina Mills deserves a night off.

 

Robin is not looking at her however, but rather over his shoulder, eyes brightening in recognition.  From where she stands, she can some what make out a swaying shadow forty paces down the hallway.

 

"I believe this is my cue professor.  I'll be sure to let you know if I see anything interesting during my patrols.  I should be back down this way in an hour but if I don't see you again, then I wish you a pleasant evening."  Regina manages a small nod at Hood and takes his word for what it is, the small but ever meaningful courtesy of looking the other way this evening, as long as all of her "business" is complete before his second tour.  She might be headmistress but rules are rules after all, and it is her job to reinforce them.

 

As Robin begins to disappears down the hall Regina calls put a soft farewell and watches his figure as it disappears around a corner, making sure that there will be no more unexpected visitors or surprises. Except for the unexpected voice in her ear.

 

"Please tell me you brought the goods."

 

Regina nearly jumps out of her skin and clutches a hand around the base of ther throat as if to keep her heart from beating out of her chest.  A lesser person might have squealed, but she’s a professor and a little bit more refined, thank you very much.

 

“Did you just squeal mom?” Henry looks up at Regina whose only answer is a pronounced scowl.  

 

“Oh Merlin, you totally did! Wait until I tell Paige about this…” Henry grins up at her toothily and he looks so familiar it makes her bones ache with longing.  But before Regina can say anything, Henry is dancing around her, hands searching through her robes for his prize.   

 

She yelps when his particularly cold fingers travel up her wrist.  “Henry Daniel Mills!”

 

Her admonishment has worked somewhat. Henry’s at least stopped moving for now. But she isn’t sure if being mocked or shook down for chocolate is worse.

 

“Regina ‘Mom’ Mills!” Henry sasses back with an arched eyebrow and arms akimbo. As if on autopilot she moves into a similar position and almost groans when she realizes just on the nose his impression is. And the little goblin just keeps on grinning.

 

Regina huffs her displeasure—which is truthfully somewhat of an act at this point.  She’s over the moon at the idea of being able to talk with and touch Henry before he retires to his new quarters for the night.  Leaving his comfy bed behind for the year and sharing a bedchamber with a bunch of other children will be a first for him, but she knows she feels it much more keenly than he ever will. She’s embarrassed to admit that she’s already dreading returning back to their rooms alone.  It was part of the reason why she left the feast headed straight back to her office after the dinner.  Seeing him, however short or long, is a balm.  But she can’t cave early, at least not visibly, or he’ll be impossible to manage when he’s a teenager.  

 

“Henry Daniel Mills.” She repeats slowly and sternly.  Henry’s ears pink at the tips and he quickly drops his arms and fixes his face into a little pout. Seems he’s still plenty affected by her mom voice, even if he’s reluctant to show it.

 

“Yes mother” He grounds out in a prim, yet still affected tone of voice that she decides is better than nothing.

 

“I believe you had a for question for me.”

 

Henry narrows his eyes as if sizing Regina up, trying to figure out her angle.  She sighs and supposes that he is every bit his mother’s son.

 

“Dearest mother of mine,” Henry begins gravely, “I sent word by bird, hoping you would meet me with my promised bounty.”

 

“I would be willing to impart it to you, Young Henry.  For a price, of course.”  

  
“Name it.”

 

“A hug.”

 

“I’ll consider it.” He says and then pauses as if he truly is a little business man closing a deal. “Anything else?”

 

Regina brushes a loose hair away from Henry’s eyes and tucks it behind an ear. “Well dear, I would love to hear about your evening.”

 

Henry smiles. “Now that I can do.”

 

Her son situates himself on the floor, leaning his back against the archway and pulls her down next to him.  With a happy sigh she produces “the goods,” and tosses him the contents of package.

 

Henry moans. “Four whole frogs? This is the best chocolate frog Wednesday ever!” Regina laughs at just how easy it is to please an eleven year old boy and hopes that a part of him stays this simple and whole forever.

 

“Just one frog tonight Henry.” She warns. The boy’s countenance droops dramatically.

 

“Just one?” He complains.  

 

“Just one.” She confirms. “But you may take a second back to your room for later.  I thought you could share the third one, maybe use it to make a new friend.”

 

Henry rolls his eyes but the corners of his lips pick up slightly. “Mom you’re so embarrassing. This isn’t like when you went here fifty years ago. You don’t just make friends anymore by handing out  chocolate frogs.” He breaks off a front leg and stuffs it in his waiting mouth.

 

“First of all!” Regina admonishes, “I’m not even close to fifty years old yet.”  

 

“Shore ur nof.”  Henry says playfully and with his whole mouth fixed around the frog’s head.  There’ll be chocolate everywhere when he’s done.  She can see it now.

 

“And second of all, of course it still works Henry! Look at you now.” She gestures at his sticky hands and the hindquarters of what was once a whole packaged piece of candy not even four minutes ago. “Who says I don’t have you just where I want you?” She laughs wickedly as Henry’s eyes widen and he starts to flail his chocolate hands about defensively.  Regina is cold and calculated when she swoops in on Henry, going right for the babyish softness of his belly.

 

Henry howls in laughter and Regina feels so bright and so full, she’d forgive him the chocolate stains on her robes forever.

 

* * *

 

Regina walks him nearly all the way back to the dungeons.  It’s far too late for him to be sneaking around the castle on his own, so they sneak around together.  With a few quick swishes of her wand she renders them both invisible and silent. Comfortably holding hands, they scoot around corners and columns to escape Professor Hood and even run down a few of the corridors.  She’s not sure she’s had so much fun in the castle since it was her own first year and she had become involved with  a group of fast friends who would—far too soon—become her comrades in arms. Even still, the memories remain mostly light as she instructs Henry on how to end the invisibility spell after he slips into bed.  With a quick kiss, and quite a long hug on Henry’s part, she sends him on.  Hopefully he’ll return to the Slytherin common room with no one the wiser. She’d hate for him to lose his new house their first points of the year.    

 

On her way back to her quarters, she thinks fondly about her first night in Hufflepuff commons and her eternally frustrating, but at least back then, occasionally endearing interactions with a certain blonde.

 

_Regina had been more than a little lonely as the night wore on and the other first years seemed to get on famously with each other.  Even still, it had been strange but nice to be able to sit in relative silence with her books and her own peace of mind without Mary Margaret’s—or worse mother’s—interruptions.  She tried to mind her own business.  She really had tried her very hardest to stay out of the small huddle of housemates in front of the common room fireplace.  She hadn’t much experience with connecting with other children her age. Mother found the desire frivolous and had discouraged it early. Regina had made it eleven years without friends and she wouldn’t need them now.  Instead, she had plans to keep her head down this semester, to distance herself from the family name and to become someone unnoticeable, a student to blend in with all other students.  She had determined that she would find her relief in anonymity.  But to her dismay, it was getting more and more difficult to watch the building commotion in the other corner of the room.  Keeping her head down was one thing but standing by watching one of her new classmates commit an atrocity against magic was another.  She watched the blonde in the center of the hubbub try and fail again to correct the flick of her wrist and place the emphasis on the third syllable instead of the fourth, and she couldn't help herself in the least._

 

 _"You're doing it all wrong," she huffed, blowing away the lock of hair from the front of her eyes.  She really,_ **_really_ ** _couldn’t help herself.  She had almost been a Ravenclaw after all.  But when the Hat had given her the choice, she had chosen Hufflepuff in hopes of appearing less of an asset to her mother.  Not smart, not cunning, just plain.  She had been determined to find relief in anonymity.  But one day, years later, when she remembered the way a puffed up chest and a wide green eyed grin met hers across the room and loudly invited her to "do better than this!" she would cry joyfully at how oh so wrong she had been._

 

So when she saw the maddening woman, standing in her hallway, in her school, knocking uselessly against the very bottom step of the staircase with her wand, wearing that same stupid leather jacket (or one that looked nearly identical to it), she couldn't tell if it was nostalgia or her old peevish nature that made the same words blurt past her lips.

 

"You're doing it all wrong,"  she said. When she muttered " _again!"_ seemingly against her will, Regina Mills promptly decided that her old inability to think properly when Emma Swan was in the vicinity had followed her into maturity after all.

 

"Excuse me?"  Emma had said confusedly from her position crouched down on the ground, fiddling impatiently with the first step of the staircase, back turned to Regina still.  The woman had, of course, not looked up and appeared to be bothered by the intrusion.

 

"What I meant to say,” Regina corrected, “is that your technique leaves something to be desired." She had to resist the childish urge to slap her hand over her mouth to be sure that nothing else completely mortifying found its way out. No _definitely not nostalgia_ , Regina decided, but something smarting.  Perhaps, even after twelve years, she wasn’t totally over the pain of being deserted by her first love without so much as an owl, let alone an explanation.   

 

"My technique leaves something to be desired huh? Well, I may be out of practice but I can assure you that most  women don't complain about my technique—if you know what I mean."  Emma briefly flicked an unregistering gaze over Regina’s body and wiggled her fingers demonstratively in case Regina didn't. "But, if I didn't know any better, I would say you sound suspiciously like my first girlfriend." Emma joked and then turned diligently—if not ineptly—back to her task.    

 

Regina nearly bit through her tongue trying to keep the decade long tirade from exploding right there, not to mention there were little sparks erupting from her fingertips and she was fairly sure she didn’t remember the hallway being tinged in a bright red.  With just the right thought, she could easily incinerate the blonde on the spot.  Then again, she had long learned that even in a world of wizards  and witches, magic wasn't always the answer.  It would be much more satisfying to wring the woman's neck herself.  

 

Before she could spring forward and throw herself dutifully into her task, she paused and considered an interesting point of information she had almost been too distracted to catch.  Emma had looked right at Regina, had seen her standing there in her full regalia and looked right through her.  Somehow, she hadn’t the faintest idea who Regina was at all.   _Interesting indeed._ But she would be lying if she said it didn’t somehow take all the wind out of her sails.  It had been ages since they’d last seen each other, since they’d last spoken, but for Emma not to recognize even a little bit?

 

If professor Swan took Regina’s nearly stunned silence as a sign of disapproval, Regina didn’t mind.  Might as well make her suffer.  Tit-for-tat and all that.  

 

Emma signed after a moment and tucked her wand back into her pocket.

 

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for.  It was raining earlier and I missed the feast, and even if I hadn’t, I don’t know if I would have even had enough energy to eat. Which, is a big deal, for those that know me anyway.  I just—I would like to get settled after quite a long and emotional day. It's my first time visiting Hogwarts since the war, and I hoped I might still remember how to stick the moving staircase to help me get to where I’m going."

 

For reasons unbeknownst to her, Regina felt a surge of grief and even empathy.  She remembered how it felt to return to the castle after an even shorter time away.  To hear the voices echoing in the hall, to see the shadows turn down the long hallways.  It had been torture at first.  But she had Henry to make it easier, to fill the hallways with new laughter and new adventures. She supposed she could be the bigger witch and assist Ms. Swan just this once. "I understand, and I can help you if you'd like. It's simple really.  You're overextending your arm here.  You want to get it to stick, not to spin, so you'll need to embody that in your posture...like this."  Regina flicked her wrist in a measured arc and pictured, with her mind, the old Hufflepuff wing of the castle.  The staircase, recognizing her request, slowed before halting just in the direction Emma had been watching.

 

"You did it!" Emma whispered in awe.  It wasn't a widely known trick.  Really, very few people had known it at all, only those especially most experienced in wandless and emotional magic.  

 

"It seems one of us still has it."  Regina said chuckling softly and replacing her hand in her voluminous robes.  Emma shot up and turned to Regina.

 

"Thank you. Truly.  Oh! And I'm sorry I haven't introduced myself.” The blond had thrust her hand out clumsily in the brunette's direction.  “I’m Emma Swan, Professor Emma Swan, and I just arrived.  I missed the introductions unfortunately, I was somewhat of a last minute appointment sent out by the ministry."  

 

"So I heard."  Regina hummed noncommittally.  And she _had_ heard, but she had very quickly compartmentalized the feeling and tucked it away to deal with much later.  But it appeared that much later was now.  Regina stared at the extended hand distastefully.  She had been willing to charm a staircase but it didn't mean that she would be willing to bury the hatchet.  

 

In the end, however,  her professionalism won out.  So she did the only respectable thing she could possibly do, straighten herself out to her full height, dust the invisible lint off of her perfect robes, and hide behind her title.

 

"Hello Professor Swan, I'm Regina Mills, former Professor of Arithmancy and former head of Hufflepuff House.  But please, call me Professor Mills.  Everyone else does.  Though Headmistress suits just fine.“ Regina put on her best headmistress smile, the one she had practiced meeting with the Ministry regarding curriculum changes this summer, and forged ahead.

 

"Please enjoy your stay in the castle and let me know if there is anything I can do to help you settle in.  I suspect Deputy Headmistress Blanchard has already reached out to you, but I'm sure the two of us can arrange something in the coming days."

 

Regina slowly withdrew from Emma and gestured up the staircase.

 

"I won't keep you a moment longer, Professor Swan.  You might want to move along before the staircase reanimates.  You’ll find that it's not quite as patient as it used to be." Regina found that Emma’s face was as expressive as it had always been, yes, but not nearly as easy to read as she used to find it, except for the brief recognition of deep sadness and dare she say it, regret. Though perhaps Regina only recognized the look after years of seeing it settle into her own.         

 

"Yes, well I'll be going." Swan rasps, looking past Regina, who is more disappointed to find their brief interaction coming to an end than she expected.

 

"Indeed.” She whispers. “Good night professor."  

 

Her first love’s vaguely amused smile would be the very last thing Emma would think of before falling asleep in the cold and empty bed in her quarters.

 

The very last thing that Regina would think of as she closed her eyes would be Henry, sweetly asleep in his new bed, before rolling over and musing satisfyingly about the way the staircase had kicked into motion just as Professor Swan had begun ascending three steps, leaving the mad woman with little choice but to jump the rest of the way with her luggage, if she didn't want to labor for another half an hour to make it back to her quarters.

 

Regina hadn't snickered then.

 

Not one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, Emma joins us in this chapter. There'll be much more of her in the next! Also, I have some interesting things in mind in terms of Mary-Margaret and Regina's relationship, but we'll just wait and see what happens...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gets a little steamy at the beginning with profanity through out. So consider yourself warned! Also CW: for brief mention of violence against women in the first section of the chapter.

Regina’s mouth is just as sweet as she remembers.

 

She threads her hands into Regina’s elaborate updo and tries to pull down every pin she can find without breaking contact with the other woman’s mouth and neck and collarbone.  It takes awhile but eventually she feels the slightly curly hair tumble around them and tickle against her nose.

 

_Success._

 

Emma loves Regina’s long hair, loves to tangle her fingers into it and scratch lightly against the woman’s scalp until she mewls. It’s pretty much a fucking kink of hers, alright? Which, speaking of fucking, Emma knows she really should pay more attention to the rest of Regina, especially while the brunette is panting and pleading in her ear. _Please Emma. Please._

 

It might have been twelve years, but Emma still remembers exactly how Regina likes it. She knows better than to mess with trying to divest Regina of any of the layers of robes she’s wearing. Instead she opts to ruck up all the heavy velvet and silk until she gets to a smooth bare thigh. This bare thigh is easily the sexiest bare thigh she’s ever seen, even sexier than the last time Emma saw it wrapped around her waist. And Emma is quite pleased to find that her paramour—is that the right word for someone who can hardly stand your existence but is currently consenting to giving you the best sex of your adult life?—is not wearing any underwear. Regina definitely deserves a gold star, or at least Emma’s mouth, for that.

 

Using the strength she built after year of chasing down dragons and other exotic magical creatures, the blonde hoists Regina into her arms and carries her to the nearest surface (another professor’s desk maybe?).  Magic be damned, Emma just uses a free arm to heave everything off of the old wood and pushes the beauty before her back with oddly little resistance. Emma would have more time to think about that if she wasn’t busy rending Regina’s robes (ok, so maybe she enjoys the drama more than she’s willing to admit), beginning the tear just under the thin fabric holding in the brunette’s heaving breasts.  

 

She stops to palm a breast because, _duh_ , before trailing kisses down Regina’s torso. Regina’s moaning and stuttering Emma’s name and Emma curses wearing these stupid tight leather pants that might make her almost have to cum on the spot. But she’s on a mission, and that mission is to eternally wipe that stupid smirk off of Regina’s face that she wears whenever she catches the blonde watching her from across a room as if she knows this is exactly what Emma has been thinking about this whole time. And though this is, in fact exactly what Emma’s been thinking about, Regina’s a liar if she says she hasn’t been thinking about it too.

 

The guttural sound Emma hears after the first swipe of her tongue through Regina’s folds tells her that the Headmistress won’t be smirking at the junior professor anytime soon. Instead Emma is pretty sure they won’t be able to make eye contact after what she’s about to do next, because Regina’s eyes are about to be permanently rolled into the back of her head.

That is if Emma can focus enough to stop laughing at the idea of eating out the headmistress (get it, _head_ mistress?!) in a blessedly abandoned classroom.  

 

Regina tightens her legs around Emma’s head and hisses a directive to _focus!_ at Emma, but the blonde can’t.

 

She can’t focus.

 

Not even with this delectable goddess laid out in front of her.

 

Because Emma Swan can’t breathe, can’t move at all. And if she does, she might do something ruinous like dislodge the arm in her chest with a fist wrapped around her golden pulsing heart.

 

Emma wants to warn Regina, _Merlin does she ever_ , but the hand holding her heart is giving her all kinds of directives and helping the other woman ride out her inevitable orgasm isn’t one of them.  Instead, all Emma can do is fix her grip around Regina’s surprisingly dainty neck and squeeze until her horrifying screams are deafened by the sound of her snapping neck.

 

 _“Regina”_ Emma cries and cries until her voice is hoarse, but knows there’s no miracle mediwitch or powerful shaman that could ever bring them back from this.

* * *

 

And this is how Emma wakes up most mornings, with the cloying smell of Regina in her nostrils, her head throbbing and tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth, and the distinct impression that she is late for work, _again._         

 

_Fuck._

* * *

 

Her seriously disturbed sleep isn’t ruining her life, but it’s not _not ruining her life_ either. She loves teaching most days but not today when she’s stepped in hippogriff dung twice during her first lesson with the Ravenclaws who were smart enough not to say anything where she might hear them, but not kind enough to keep the news from spreading to her other classes...which meant snickering Slytherins and howling Hufflepuffs the rest of the day.  

 

When she’s ready to quit and start hexing them all, class mercifully ends and she has twenty five minutes of a thirty minute break to spend at her leisure once she manages to get all the shit off her shoes.

 

With the intention of giving the smell in her office some time to clear out, she heads down to the staff room and decides to at least get a damn coffee for her trouble today. And, if she’s lucky, she might find that the dwarves made bear claws.

 

But, as usual, when she walks into the staff room, all the excitement and  bustling activity comes to a grinding halt.  Emma’s a tough cookie. Years spent as a foster child, war hero, and then traveling the globe as animal bounty hunter of sorts had meant leading a fairly solitary life. She could do without surrounding herself with unnecessary attachments, she’d done it for almost as long as she could remember, but she didn’t agree to move back to Hogwarts to be treated, well, like a pariah.

 

It really puts her off her coffee. So she opts to sit at the staff table and stew instead.

     

And to be clear, it isn’t just Regina Sanctified Mills. They _all_ treat her like a pariah at first. It’s only Blanchard that takes pity, or an overwhelming if not off-putting interest in her but she just feels so tired of being alone that she finds she can manage the incessant being asked after, even begins to look forward to it.  Mary Margaret—who has sidled up to her with a new knitting project— seems to have some strange biological urge for mothering the hopeless, and that’s exactly what Emma Swan is. At least that was what the foster mother in Kent had said just two weeks before she sent Emma back to the group home to await a new placement. She doesn’t mention any of this to Mary Margaret of course.  Not that she’d have to anyway.  When Emma was declared the precious Savior of   the wizarding world, there wasn’t a paper in the region that didn’t have her face and story plastered all over it.  Back then she’d be surprised if a casual reader of the Daily Mirror _didn’t_ know that she once split her pants on the slides at primary and got such a bad skin burn she could hardly sit down for a whole week.

 

It used to bother her how much everyone seemed to know about her while she knew so little about everyone else.  She used to complain to Regina about it then, who would always gently stroke her cheek and remind her “you know me.” And Emma, ever the little shit, would capture Regina’s hand in hers, press a kiss to its palm and declare “in the biblical sense…” before running back ahead of Regina in the hallway or down the road to Hogsmeade leaving a flustered Regina chasing after her, laughing all the way.

 

Now Regina hardly even looks at her, except when she thinks Emma isn't watching, and even then Emma had only caught her once.  The headmistress then proceeded to avert her gaze and brusquely tell Emma that she had her spilled off brand salsa down the front of her new white primark sweater.

 

Which, ok, she totally had.

 

But she wasn’t sure Regina had to be such a witch about it. Well not necessarily a witch, more like a b—

 

“Emma?” Mary Margaret’s head is so quizzically cocked to the side that even her floating knitting needles seem to be tilted at a near 90-degree angle.  

 

“I'm sorry Mary Margaret. I zoned out didn't I?” Emma said sheepishly moving a hand through her hair.

 

“Well I think zoned out is a bit of an understatement.  I was pretty sure you had stopped listening ages ago so I may have spent the last few minutes going on about the cosmetic uses of flobberworms.”

 

“Few minutes?”

 

“More like five…”

 

Emma groans and drops her forehead to the table in a dramatic display that really only ends up making her headache worse.

 

“I’m so sorry Mary Margaret, really. I don't mean to be rude it's just already been such a long day.”  Emma lets out a deep breath and decides to chance looking up at the brunette. She expects that she must finally have knocked up against the end of the saintly woman’s patience but instead of the sternness Emma expected she would find, Mary Margaret's face softens slightly and she spells her needles to rest on the table.

 

“Emma,” Mary Margaret begins, “I want you to know that I appreciate your friendship and it truly has been a joy having you at Hogwarts and being to reconnect with you in a much more meaningful way.”  Emma thinks that meaningful in this context must mean having conversations with each other that extend beyond _“Hi! My name is Emma and I'm definitely hitting that and by that I mean your step-sister.”_ Or _“can you please pass the salt?”_

 

“And believe me, I for one am incredibly glad that you've come back and have decided to make Hogwarts your home again.”

 

Emma almost scoffs at the idea of anywhere being home, let alone a castle full of people who appear to have been Imperio-ed to NOT speak to her.

 

“But please forgive me for saying this—” Mary Margaret sucks in a big breath as if she's preparing to tell Emma she has an flesh eating disease on her face.

 

“Mary Margaret?” Emma asks concernedly, as if she was the one that began the conversation in the first place.

 

“What I mean to say—”

 

“—what she means to say is that you look like shite Swan,” Mulan chimed in, “and you haven't managed to get your head out of your ass since you got here. And maybe we’d have the chance to be concerned about you if you weren't being such a—”

 

“What I meant to say!” Mary Margaret reiterates and then shoots Mulan an exasperated look “Is that you seem like you could use some time to unwind, maybe read a good book or take a long relaxing bath!”

 

“I think Emma dear, what she really really means to say is that you need a good lay.” This time it's Dr. French speaking (apparently a Muggle Higher Ed degree in Information Technology carries quite a bit of weight with the ministry).

 

“Here, here sister!” Leroy, Castle Caretaker and self-appointed professor of day drinking exclaims pumping a fist in the air.

 

The others begin to nods wildly, a murmur catching like fire in the break room.  Hua just stands against a wall watching Emma with a smug look on her face and the barest hint of a smile catching at the corners of her mouth.  Mary Margaret’s ears are beet red and there's a general blush rising up her cheeks but even her head is bobbing slightly in agreement.

 

Emma, who is pretty freaking tense and only working on an average of about three and a half hours of sleep per night, may not be at the top of her game but doesn't have to be a perfect O.W.L student to realize that this is an intervention.  

 

An intervention for Emma’s sex life?

 

Well, at least she was wrong about them probably hating her. They _definitely_ hate her.

 

Before she can even think of how to formulate the words to ask Mary Margaret if this was planned, Kathryn Midas strides into the room (with Marian Álvarez following behind her short of breath) saying , “We didn't miss the whole thing did we?”

 

Surprisingly the mix of emotions Emma is experiencing somehow make it difficult to react beyond squawking in rage. Although the squawk really comes out more like a squeak.

 

“Nope!” Mulan says, mouth popping over the p before turning to smirk at the two newcomers. “You're just in time.”

 

“Excellent.” Marian states and moves over to the wall to tuck in next to Mulan while Kathryn makes a show of pulling out a chair and joining Emma and Mary Margaret at the staff table.

 

“I was just telling Emma,” Mary Margaret said looking specifically at Kathryn and Marian to catch them up on what they had missed so far, “that it could be good for her to relax a little, loosen up, maybe even go down to Hogsmeade for a bit.”  Emma frowned _bigly_ at the nun-like woman but it seemed to have little effect.

 

Mulan snickered, turned to Marian, and said in a stage whisper “Lacy told her she needed to get laid!”  

 

Marian rolled her eyes and elbowed Hua in the stomach, who promptly bent over at the waist.

 

“Merlin Marian,” she wheezed.

 

Emma smiled gratefully. “Thank you Marian, I'm glad that you agree with me that this is all nonsense—”

 

“No, no, she's right. You absolutely do need to get laid, but she could have said it with more finesse.” Marian looks as Mulan disapprovingly and Mulan at least has the decency to trug in acknowledgement as Marian continues.

 

“But I can't believe you called me down here on my free period for this Blanchard!” This last comment from Marian is said with a smirk that could honestly rival Regina’s, and thus it isn’t difficult to suss out that it was clearly meant to stir up some kind of trouble in the room.   

 

Emma looks at Mary Margaret wild-eyed at how quickly things with the brunette had escalated from _Let me show you the ropes!_ And _Did you need help stain treating that sweater?_ To _When was the last time you got it in with someone_ ? Or _Have you read about the latest interventions in safe wizarding sex?_

 

Emma pales. “You called...these people...here?” This isn't even half of what she wants to say right now, but she's pretty sure that it would be inappropriate to start drop kicking people, least of which her new direct supervisor.

 

Mary Margaret diverts her gaze from Emma which the blonde decides to interpret as shame for having been properly chastised by Emma’s squeaks and half asked questions, until she realizes M&M is really just looking at the other blonde across the table, deferring to her forthcoming commentary.

 

“We could sit here and have some long drawn out discussion about how mopey and awkward you’ve been since you began the term.” Kathryn says bluntly. “Or we could even pretend that only want the very best for you and nothing else matters. But the truth is, we simply find this unbearable…”

 

Emma stiffens, “Unbearable?” She asks. Feeling slightly distraught and not unlike she used to as a child, anticipating being thrown back, few things packed into a ratty trunk waiting for the social worker to pull up to the curb and ring the bell.

 

But Kathryn’s hand comes to rest gently atop of Emma’s and rubs soothing circles over the back of it with her thumb.  “You’ve been walking on eggshells since you got here and sadly the faculty and staff can tell.  You’re a lovely young woman Emma, truly, but you look like you’ll strain something if you’re not careful. There's nothing wrong with taking a rest here and then Professor Swan. Your first year back can be a difficult time and a lot to take in,” the others nod along with Kathryn’s words, “but you're doing well and it's clear to us that the students adore you. Yet, wouldn't it be nice to just be Emma for awhile? We don't want to see you burn out before you can even get out of the gate.”

 

Emma relishes the hand on hers, the soothing human contact, and has to fight the urge to breakdown into real tears.

 

“Oh.” Emma breaths out.  She takes in another shuddering breath and realizes that these people don't mean her any harm, but have come to care about her in their own _strange_ way.

 

Kathryn smiles beatifically and pats Emma’s hand one last time before clapping her own together.

 

“Now that that’s settled, this is the perfect time to let you know that I'll be supervising your final period this afternoon which will leave you free to blow this popsicle stand, as they say, and go have a little fun.” The devious sparkle in Kathryn’s eyes must be contagious, because Emma notices that almost everyone one else in the room has joined in.

 

“Now would also be the time to tell you that I've already booked you a room at Granny’s for the night.” Mary Margaret said contritely and Leroy jumped in to add

 

“And we’ve even put in a few of our galleons so your meal and first few drinks are on us!”  

 

Emma is definitely not crying now, not in that super embarrassing snotty McSnot kind of way that she typically makes fun of other people for.

 

The period is almost over so the other professors and personnel file out of the room, but not before giving Emma a few encouraging pats on the back, the most notable being Kathryn’s soft “welcome to the team,” and the usually staid Mulan’s hearty slap on the back.

 

The most outrageous encouragement had to be Marian’s stop over to remind her about the health benefits of a healthy and regular sex life and the less than subtle mention of how she had shockingly had a very similar conversation with the Headmistress over lunch.

 

It took Emma a whole half an hour to feel like she had finally gotten the coffee out of her nose

 

But when she buttoned up her coat and and wound her threadbare but precious scarf around her throat, she felt content in a way she hadn't felt in ages.

 

* * *

 

It felt good to stretch her legs and go somewhere that wasn't just contained between the castle walls.  Hogwarts was beautiful but it could get constraining after a while, and it had the tendency to get kind of maddening when she was balancing on the knife's edge of trying to avoid her former _something,_ and trying to run into her at every turn.

 

She had hardly managed to get more than a few words in here and there with the Headmistress.  Unsurprisingly, their check in meeting had been rescheduled and postponed until it was clear that it was never going to happen at all.  All other communications were passed through the Deputy Headmistress who had taken it upon herself to be Emma’s self-proclaimed pedagogical mentor, which was nice in it’s own way, but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t smart even the littlest bit that Regina had made it her life’s mission to hardly be in any room with Emma that wasn’t the Great Hall outside of the occasional staff meetings.  

 

If Emma was being totally honest with herself then she could admit that even if she didn’t expect that Regina would instantly fall into her arms—not that Emma wanted that anyway—she thought they’d at least be able to take up the old familiar gauntlet and fight like cats and dogs or bicker like a vitriolic old married couple.  She had hoped that she could still move Regina in some way, still have a measured effect on the brunette, but to no avail.  If it weren't for the fact that Emma was sure that the Headmistress had completely inconvenienced herself on more than one occasion to avoid the Care of Magical Creatures professor, then the blonde would be sure that Regina was totally indifferent to her.

 

She couldn’t be sure Regina felt anything other than the expected ball of emotions anyone might be feel after nearly twelve years of absolutely no contact.  Emma was still surprised Regina hadn’t incinerated her on the spot the first time they set eyes on each other in the stairway.  But it appeared that the other woman was no longer the nineteen year old girl that Emma still so easily identified with when their eyes locked across hallways or the castle grounds where Emma once spied the woman dressed in one of her famously aerodynamic flying outfits preparing to lift off the ground to fly around the empty quidditch pitch.  Regina remained terribly unaffected, her mount perfectly executed while Emma walked into a pole trying to surreptitiously watch the witch arc across the sky.       

 

So much for subtlety.

 

But the goal for the evening wasn’t to think about Regina or the slightly imperious but (to Emma’s dismay) equally adorable pint sized Regina who seemed to be adjusting to life as a Hogwarts student well enough.  No.  The goal was to get absolutely sloshed and pretend like she was a well adjusted adult who didn’t depend on alcohol to work through—read ignore—life’s many challenges.

 

In her excitement to make her way down to Hogsmeade, however, she had forgotten to fret over one tiny, itsy bitsy detail that had slipped her mind.

 

_Ruby._

 

Or, more specifically, her other very best friend  (the one she didn’t used to make the beast with two backs with) in the whole world. Perhaps Emma’s only friend, if the werewolf was willing to overlook the fact that they also hadn’t spoken in years.

 

In any event, if Emma _was_ going to fret it probably would have made much more sense for her to do so before she found herself with her cold and slightly wet nose nearly touching the glass doors to Granny’s Pub and Inn.

 

Oh well.

 

Taking a few seconds to fix her wind blown hair and at least use the corner of her sleeve to wipe the snot off her face, Emma decided to handle this the best way she knew how...flying by the seat of her pants and praying that Merlin might take mercy on her.

 

If that method could end the fourth wizarding world war then it should be enough to help her at least begin to make amends with Ruby.

 

Emma moved to push open the door, three times actually, before she realized it was locked firmly shut and that from what she could make of Ruby from inside the pub, the woman was tickled pink about it.

 

Or, you know, maybe more of a plan would have been a good move.

 

“I know you’re in there Ruby, I can see you through the glass!”

 

Ruby smirks and to Emma’s chagrin, doesn’t budge an inch.

 

“Step away from the glass Swan.  I just cleaned that window and you’re getting all of your Savior breath fogged up on it.”  

 

Emma fights the childish urge to reach out and lick the door just because and chooses to glower instead.

 

“For Merlin’s sake Ruby, open up the damned door!” She says with gusto, but it seems to have little effect.

 

“I guess it's too late to tell you we’re closed.” Ruby eventually says to Emma, still through the glass.

 

“More like too early Rubes, the sun is out in the sky and classes are still in-session.”  She hesitates before adding, “Imightalsohavearoombookedforthenight” in one breath.

 

Ruby arches a single eyebrow. “So I heard.”

 

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

 

“We’re kind of provincial people up here as you may have noticed.  Something about living in an undiscoverable little town in the Scottish Highlands will do that to you.”

 

“So I noticed.” Emma couldn’t help but laugh at that. She had missed Ruby’s sense of humor and her once sisyphean journey to convince her grandmother to let the young werewolf see the world—to which the old woman would always reply, _“the only thing you need to know about this world that you can’t learn up there at that school you can learn right back there in the kitchen helping me with these orders!”_ And even Emma could admit she’d learned a thing or two bussing tables and hand washing dishes for an extra sickle.

 

She shivers. Even though it was only mid-October there had already been morning frost twice this week. Emma stares plaintively at Ruby hoping that her puppy eyes would have some kind of effect because her fingers were on their way to becoming blocks of ice.

 

“Cut it out Swan.” Ruby huffs. “You don’t think that will really work on me do you? I’m the one that’s half wolf.”

 

“Actually, I don’t really think that’s how it works. You're more like Spider-Man, a human with a mutated strand of—” Ruby cuts Emma off with a glare.

 

“You know what you’re right.” Emma amends.  “You’re the actual werewolf—they just pay me to  teach care of magical creatures.”  

  
“Exactly. And don’t you forget it.”

 

Emma rolls her eyes and rubs her hands together for effect (and to get the blood moving in them again). “Ruby please. I’m just a witch standing in front of another witch begging her to let me warm myself in front of her fire.”  

 

“You know it's the 21st century Em. We have central heating now.”

 

“I wouldn't know Ruby.”

 

“Ok, fine. stop your grovelling and get in here Swan.”

 

“I thought you’d appreciate me groveling.” Emma says with a small smile.

“Oh I do,” Ruby admits “But it would probably be much more effective if you came inside.”

 

Emma breathes a sigh of relief and pushes the door open with as much success as she had the first time.

 

“Morgan fucking Le Fey Ruby! I’m trying here but you won’t even unlock the door.” Emma beats on the glass in frustration, feeling a strong prick of tears forming in the corner of at least one of her eyes.  

 

She’s getting so worked up she almost doesn’t hear Ruby when she says “Pull Emma!”

 

“What?” She says incredulously.

 

“Pull the door open Emma.  It won’t open if you keep pushing on it like that.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yes _oh_.” Ruby sighs. “Come on then. You better get in here if you don’t want to hear it from Granny about heating the whole neighborhood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop me a review or a line! Also hoped you enjoyed reading Hogwarts!Emma. She's a lot funnier than I expected her to be...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Ruby spend the evening together and have a much needed drink and a difficult conversation about the time since they've seen each other last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking about coalition girl's call for #soft swanqueen sunday and decided it was time to finally post this chapter. I'm working on chapter 5 now and hope that it won't be nearly so long till I can get that one edited and published. Hopefully this chapter gives you all the fluffyangsty friend feels. 
> 
> Hopefully we can all enjoy clips of Lana singing and dancing later today.
> 
>  
> 
> TW: For Emma's PTSD struggles  
> <3

After ten minutes of a relatively awkward and silent standoff the first words out of her mouth are “So, how are you?”

 

_ Just brilliant Emma. _

 

Ruby’s eyes flash but, to the woman’s credit, she doesn’t lay into Emma immediately. Not that she would blame her. 

 

“Well I could tell you that business got a bit slow after the lunch rush so I was planning to take a break and maybe close up for a few minutes, but I don’t think that’s what you’re really asking me, are you?”  The bartender threw the towel in her hand over her left shoulder and turned to the wall of bottles arranged behind her.      
  


“Will two fingers of backwater firewhiskey do you?” 

 

Emma gapes at Ruby’s question and cocks her head to the side in contemplation.

 

“I'm not having this conversation with you without a drink. I mean this is when you're going to come and give me some cockamamie excuse for disappearing for over ten years without so much as an owl or even that stupid unicorn patronus. _ ” _

 

“Hey! Princess is not stupid.  _ She’s majestic _ .” 

 

“Princess?” Ruby snorts.

 

“It’s not like I named her.” Emma frowns and changes the subject. “Did you just offer me Backwater whiskey?”  

 

“It was all you used to drink before.” Ruby says gesturing to the worn bottle in her hand. Emma can’t help but notice the way ‘before’ hangs in the air.   _ Before she ran like a coward, before she broke Regina’s heart, before she let everyone down.    _

 

“I'm not some insipid little nineteen year-old any more.  Jesus rubes,” She grouses. “I've grown up at least a little. Cut me some slack here.”  Emma’s palms sweat and her chest starts to tighten. The litany of  _ befores is _ thrumming in her veins and she thinks she could knock over this stool instead of sit on it, dash out of Granny’s, and never return to the stupid scottish Highlands again.  She could start over, she’d done it before and could do it again.  But would the pain of having to admit her follies to another be worth the price of self-banishment? Of living with the guilt of having let everyone down, again?

 

Ruby’s lays a hand over her white and bloodless shaking fingers and Emma feels a familiar sense of  _ calm  _ and  _ safe  _ attempt to wash over her.   

 

“Why don’t you sit down Em.”  Emma does as she tolds and mourns the loss of Ruby’s touch when she moves to pull two glasses down onto the bar in front of her.  The sight of the waitress’s fluid movements are slightly soothing.  She moves with a practiced ease, a quiet sense of belonging that makes Emma long for something she cannot name. Something she might have had once, however fleeting.     

 

Emma welcomes the distraction of the cool glass pushed into her hands.

 

“Two fingers of Ogden's then, one ice cube, and a dash of cinnamon.” Ruby smiles a small but triumphant smile and waits for Emma to take a sip.  

 

It does not disappoint.

 

“Fuck Rubes,” Emma breathes out in a shaky breath.

 

Ruby’s smile grows wider, wolfish even, as Emma savors another sip. 

 

Eventually the whisky works its wonders and the voices inside Emma’s head clear out a little, leaving her some space to just breathe. She can’t help but return Ruby’s smile. She sets her drink down on the counter and stares at it hard before looking back up at her companion seriously. “Is this Ogden's double oaked?”

 

“You bet your sweet ass it is. Top shelf too, and it's going straight on your tab. So you might want to slow down there champ.” Ruby pours herself a glass of something nondescript and equally as expensive looking, but straight up with no frills. Ruby has worked at Granny’s for as long as Emma’s known her, and she's been drinking just as long.    

 

“It's uncanny how good you are at this shit. How did you know I would love this?” 

 

“Besides the fact that you're a prick who hasn't changed at all, and you've been taking cinnamon in your hot chocolate for years?” The brunette says good naturedly, that is, as much as you  _ can _ call someone a prick good naturedly. Which, is hardly at all.  But Ruby’s always had a gift with words. And for knowing when conversations were growing far too serious for Emma’s tastes.

 

“Yes Ruby,  _ besides that _ ,” Emma says dryly. 

 

“Occlumency you twit. And now I not only know that you’re a raging prick, but apparently you've also got the hormones of a 80 year old centaur in heat because you thought about sex at least seven times on your way over here, and it wasn't with me.” A self-satisfied grin works it's way onto Ruby’s face.  “You know, it also explains why you smell like a truck stop in Leeds.” 

 

Emma sputters at least a galleon worth of quality liquor down the front of her favorite teaching shirt. 

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! I haven't even gotten my ass all the way situated on the stool yet and you're already laying me out. You must be really pissed.”

 

Just as Ruby is about to respond, the magical bell over the door begins to jingle as someone pushes the door open. 

 

“Mrs. Collingwood!” The waitress turns to flash a quick smile at the grey haired woman who has just slipped inside the diner.  “Please come in and have a seat wherever you like, I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

 

The older woman smiles genuinely at them both before disappearing to what Emma assumes must be her favorite booth in the back. Ruby, who has carefully followed Mrs. Collingwood’s movements to be absolutely sure the woman can’t hear their soon to be continued conversation, drops her smile and frowns in Emma’s direction. 

 

“Pissed Emma? I think pissed is the understatement of the year,” Ruby murmurs,  “but if you have to think about why I might have a problem with wondering for months on end about whether or not you were alive before you dropped off the face of the earth for a decade, then maybe there isn't anything I can say that will make it through that pea brained head of yours.” 

 

“Fair.”

 

Ruby slams her glass a little too hard onto the bar and to their chagrin they incur a curious glance from Mrs. Collingwood that Emma wards off with a tight smile and a little wave. 

 

With a sigh, the blonde turns back to waitress turned bartender, right as she starts up again.

 

“And then let's not  _ mince words  _ and forget that it took you six weeks after the start of the term to come visit your dear old friend, didn't it?” 

 

Emma wishes she could say it was more complicated than that, but the long drawn out truth probably wasn’t very appropriate to layout in mixed company, and in the end the simple truth was that Ruby was right.

 

“Touché again.” She reaches for her drink, knocks back the rest of her whiskey in one go, and tosses the empty glass on the counter.  With a shit eating grin she turns back to look at the diner’s sole guest and loudly proclaims “Slanté!” Before gesturing for another drink.  Ruby, however, is none too pleased and pushes a bottle into Emma’s empty hands. Her message is clear enough.  _ Poor your own goddamn drink, Swan. _

 

Perhaps Emma  _ has  _ taken this a little too far. But she's shit at this whole talking things out thing, which is why she disappeared for ten years and a few months.

 

Or, whatever.

 

If she's honest, she's pretty sure she's a little drunk now.  Sixteen year old Emma Swan would be mortified to know that thirty year old Swan hardly drank liquor at all and had a tendency to fall asleep on the threadbare couch in her rooms after a glass of white wine since becoming the new Head of Hufflepuff.

 

Properly deflated, Emma resigns herself to only pouring a splash more of the Ogden's (for Merlin's sake it's double Oaked and aged for a quarter century, she can't afford much more than that) and slides the bottle back to her (current? ex?) friend.  

 

Ruby has the good sense to put the bottle out of reach, but her movements are becoming so stilted that Emma wouldn't be surprised if Ruby exploded on the spot.

 

“You know what?” Ruby is straining to keep her voice down so hard that Emma is sure that the blonde is fairly sure Ruby’s eyes might start flashing soon. “I am really sick of your shit Emma.”

 

“I know.”

 

“No, you don’t know! You can’t even give me the minimal satisfaction of being able to rail into you like normal people.  I should throw you out on your ass while it’s still light outside.” 

 

Emma chuckles ruefully.

 

“I would. Throw me out on my ass I mean. But then again, I’m not you Rubes.”

 

“What, not an idiot?” Ruby scoffs.

 

“No, I’m definitely an idiot. But not you.  You’re just a werewolf with a heart of gold who wouldn’t throw out an old war hero.  Even if she’s a giant dick who owes you a humongous apology.”

 

Ruby laughs incredulously. 

 

“The biggest apology.”

  
“The biggest apology” Emma agrees solemnly.  “I’m sorry Rubes.”

 

The werewolf’s full brown eyes lock with the blonde’s bright green ones. Emma knows she’s searching for something, something far more meaningful than Emma has been able to express with words.  There’s no familiar tingle of occlumency--this time she would have been prepared for it--but she can feel a familiar feeling of warmth settle in her chest when the corner of Ruby’s eyes begin to crinkle and her mouth twists into an almost smile. 

 

“Emma?” Ruby says softly.

 

Emma looks down at her bitten fingers can’t help but feel incredibly vulnerable, but she knows that whatever Ruby asks in this moment, she’ll be willing to sit down and answer.  She’s sure she owes the woman this much, at least. When she looks back up at Ruby, the smile is a full one now, slightly teasing but overall kind, and for a moment Emma can make herself believe that she never walked away for twelve years.   

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Can I tell you something?” 

 

Emma nods vigorously.  “ _ Anything.”  _

 

Ruby’s eyes shine as she reaches across the bar and takes Emma cheek in her hand.  “You’ve got spinach in your teeth princess.” 

 

Ruby taps Emma on the nose and flounces over to Mrs. Collingwood’s table to take the old  woman’s order.

 

_ Well,  _ Emma thinks throwing back the last little dregs of whiskey, melted ice cube, and too much cinnamon,  _ can’t say I didn’t deserve that. _

 

* * *

 

The dinner rush isn't much of a rush in the end.  Emma is happy to let Ruby do her thing, so she settles in at the bar, and eventually tucks into an order of shepherd’s pie that Ruby sets down in between taking people’s orders. It’s been forever since Emma’s had any shepard’s pie, even longer since she’s had Granny’s, but she finds she loves it just as much as she used to.  She doesn’t feel the debilitating loneliness that she felt the last time she had tried to eat the once favorite dish far away from the comfort of friends who had became her only family.  Instead it tastes familiar and warm and sticks to her bones.  For the first time in years, when she’s soaked up the last bit of it with a roll, she didn't feel like a ravenous bottomless pit. She almost feels full, and she quite likes the feeling.

 

Ruby closes up the dining room fairly easily. Emma offers to help with the dishes but Ruby turns her down proclaiming that tonight they had better things to do than to then worry about the crockery and elected instead to set them washing with her wand.  It’s not something she does often, she hastily assures Emma. The blonde remembers how Granny hated using magic to get the work done insisting that there was nothing like scalding hot water to really sanitize the cookware.  She can still feel her hands redden and crack at the memory of summer and winter breaks scouring every last pot in the place so she chuckles when Ruby reveals to her Granny’s real problem with magicking the dishes. 

 

“Truthfully, it ruins the lot of them after awhile and you know how miserly Granny is. She hates spending on anything, let alone on new plates. I don't even think she pays me a sickle more today than she paid us fifteen years ago.” 

 

Emma laughs loudly at that and grabs a rag behind the bar to help wipe down all the tables one last time, while the Ruby passes a broom over the near spotless floor _.  _

 

When all is well put away and Ruby has managed to eat a few bites of something herself, Emma appoints herself knight of the flatware and studiously polishes each fork, knife, and spoon until the silver begins to gleam.  It's good.  It reminds her of old times, and it's good to use her hands again, even if is just to tuck and roll the utensils into faded cloth napkins. Ruby savors her freshened up scotch and soda--not her usual but she figured they both might as well drink Ogden's--and runs a hand through her hair to loosen the tangling mane.

 

Ruby is so beautiful and smart and hardworking and has the body of a goddamned goddess.  Emma dedicated years of her life wanting to be funny, bubbly, achingly friendly Ruby.  Ruby, the closest thing to a sister she had ever known. Ruby whose feet still hurt after a long shift. Ruby who looks so tired, despite her innate magic that has the potential to heal her in mere minutes, ages her much slower than her peers, and should provide her with endless energy. 

 

Emma frowns and takes in the dinner around her, the walls almost exactly the same as the first time she had seen them.  The furniture comfortable but familiar and worn. The dinner Emma once found refuge in has hardly changed but Emma has.  She has tussled with dragons, defended the whole wizarding world from the scrounge of the Earth, and has returned to Hogwarts a former hero and a head of house. For her, the dinner holds fond memories of an easier time. But the professor wonders if for Ruby, the yellowed walls have become a prison.

 

It's this realization that allows her to finally see Ruby, to take her in completely, and see beyond the patient but practiced smiles for customers and maybe even friends who have casually disappeared for a decade.

 

Sighing, the blonde folds up the last napkin and sets it into the bin Ruby will carefully place on a shelf in the backroom later this evening, long after Emma has fallen asleep upstairs. The moon is steadily approaching full, not close enough for the other woman to need to transform quite yet, but enough to make the average werewolf a bit antsy.  These are things that Emma once knew as Ruby’s friend, as her family.  Now she only knows them as someone who just studies magical creatures, often in a sanitized classroom, not out in the world where care and careful relationships with these living beings was once integral to the way she lived her daily life, to whom she befriended, to whom she loved. Though, it had been years since she has actively loved anyone. Not without the distance of miles and years between them. All these years she has thought about the ability to walk away from everything and everyone a terrible curse, an unfortunate side affect of her orphaned and rootless state. Never once has she considered it for what it truly was. A privilege. A choice. Easier than staying and facing the real bogarts in her closet who were always the warm flesh and bone that walked beside her in the early evenings or woke with arms and legs slung over her own, never the things that went bump in the night.

 

The weight of her realization is completely staggering. She had left all those years ago as some kind of selfish punishment and penance, thinking that somehow life would march on blissfully for the others, better for her absence. She hadn’t really stopped to think of all the ways her absence might hurt the only people she had ever loved. She hadn’t really stopped to think of all the pain and heartache each of them had carried that had little at all to do with her. She can only wonder at the healing they might have found together if she had dared to look up and realize the ways she could have really saved them all, the ways they all could have saved each other, if she had been less invested in carrying the mantle on her own.   

 

Emma looks at Ruby. There is so much she should say now, so much she wants to change for all of them, but it is too late in the day for all that now.

 

She opens her mouth to say the words, but chooses to swallow them instead.

 

She wonders if Ruby can smell her regret. 

 

She doesn’t have to wonder long.

 

“Things kind of sucked around here without you at first.” Ruby says with a half smile. “I don’t want you to apologize for it Emma. Especially if you don’t really know what you’re apologizing for.”

 

Emma casts her gaze downward. 

 

“Somehow I thought…”

 

Ruby chuckles sadly. 

 

“Thought that we wouldn’t be different. That we couldn’t move on without you? That we didn’t have our own lives to lead, businesses to run, children to raise?”  Emma can feel her jaw tighten with Ruby’s last statement. 

 

“I didn’t say that.” Emma quietly declares, but Ruby just stares at her thoughtfully before continuing.

 

“You didn’t have to. You didn’t say  _ anything _ Emma.” Ruby sits back in her chair, watches Emma’s hands clench and clench until her knuckles turn white. “And we never got the chance to say anything to you. You left without a trace and there was no way for us to even reach you to ask you to stay, or come back, or even tell you to go fuck yourself.” Ruby catches herself and takes a deep breath before reaching for her scotch and soda.

 

“I don’t know what to say Rubes.” Emma says softly. 

 

“No. I don’t imagine you do. And don’t think there’s anything you can say to make this better, anything you could say to fix this. Because you can’t.”

 

Emma’s eyes close in defeat. In some kind of immeasurable pain that she cannot name. That feeling when she realizes she still feels the loss of Ruby and the others as fresh as the first time. 

 

“We held a funeral for you, you know?” 

 

No. Emma did not know. The thought of her friends standing in front of an empty casket mourning her loss when she was alive--even if she wasn’t well--no more than a continent away, causes bile to crawl up her throat.  

 

“Just a couple of us, on the side of a hill. Nothing flashy. We didn’t think you would appreciate that. Besides there wasn’t even a body. No one could find any trace of you and some of us had begun to fear that maybe things had gone wrong out there. Maybe you had been taken by one of the Crocodile’s cronies, or worse, maybe the pressure had gotten to you and you had done the only thing you thought you could.”  

 

Emma blanched, remembering the few times she had thought of taking her own life, wondering if she would use magic or do without.  Go out of this life like she had come in it, alone and without magic--just misery.  

 

“Daniel was the only one who didn’t think you were gone. He was so mad at us when we told him what we wanted to do. Thought we had given up on you.  He did it for Reggie in the end.” Emma knew that wasn’t the only thing he had done for Regina in the end. Even after all these year and the things that changed between all of them, the jealousy and the anguish had barely faded a bit. But she felt hot shame at Ruby’s next words.

 

“Daniel said a few words. Led the whole thing really. He wasn’t the best public speaker, but it felt right.  We held each other and cried for awhile and then we all just tried to do the impossible and  move on.”

 

Emma pained at the thought of Daniel, a young father dead at twenty-four years old. 

 

“Of course,” Ruby began, “a year later you were spotted by the Daily Mirror up somewhere in the Andes and then we knew you were alive. But when we realized you were alive and well and had just chosen to live without us… Well, that was a pain even more unimaginable than just thinking you were gone. A hundred returned letters.  Birds from every corner of the world. And just like that. You were done with us.” Ruby drained her drink and set it down on the table with a resounding thud but Emma’s stomach turned thinking about her own whisky sitting between them. 

 

Emma remembered the letters. Remembered each and every one of them. The flurry of owls and birds and even bats that had found her in the most remote of locations.  After awhile they had begun to dwindle. The letters from Ruby lasted two steady years before they had finally petered off.  After that, only one person bothered to keep writing her after.

 

Those were the most difficult of the letters she received,  the ones that Emma looked forward to the most. They only ever detailed the mundane things, a new walking path discovered, a single pressed flower from the vase on the kitchen table, the detailed beauty of a sunset, silly little details about a baby’s first smile, first clap of hands, first word. Once there had even been a moving picture, chubby dark haired baby studiously sucking his lower lip into his mouth as he focused on lifting himself from the floor and shuffling between a beat up end table and an old couch into a mother’s arms just out of range of the lens. After that, the letters became too painful, too real for her to keep reading. So she sent the rest of them back to sender, almost always without opening them, and eventually they stopped coming after her fourth year away from home, after Daniel had…

 

They were never signed, but after seven years as classmates she had recognized the handwriting immediately.  When she heard the news she knew why there had never been any more letters.

 

There hadn’t been anyone left to send them. 

 

But she still carried the small wallet sized picture of his son with her everywhere she went.   

 

“What happened Ruby?”Emma said looking at Ruby plaintively. “What really happened to Daniel?”

 

There had been a final letter after his death. A clipping from his obituary, a little placard from his funeral with his glowing smiling face waving at the top. He had died of a heart attack it said, quiet and safe in his bed, next to his young wife, with his young son snuffling quietly in the next room.

 

Whenever she tried to imagine Daniel passing through the veil like that, smiling and content, leaving behind everything he had fought so long and hard for, her insides felt like a round peg trying to fit in a square hole. 

 

Despite their many shared interests, Daniel was nothing like her. He would never leave his family so easily.

 

Emma sucked in a sharp breath when she felt Ruby's hand gently cover her own.  Though she hadn't realized it before, her teeth had begun to chatter as if she had been transported to the day she had the terse but achingly sad letter. 

 

_ Daniel’s gone. _

 

_ Daniel’s gone. _

 

_ Daniel’s gone. _

 

The words she received from her former lover were still etched on the back of her eyelids in Regina’s lilting script that had once been whimsical but had suddenly become neat and no nonsense. It has been her first and only letter.

 

Sometimes in the echoing hallways with the high and arched ceilings, Emma's eyes find Regina’s retreating form and wonders what happened to the girl she so fondly remembers. She wonders what that young girl saw the night Daniel closed his eyes for the last time that made her so tense and quiet, so incredibly weary.

 

Emma wonders. But Ruby just reaches out and cups Emma’s face in her palm. 

 

“Oh Emma. I love you. I always have. And as much as it might not seem like it right now, I appreciate you making the trip down here. For trying. So please don't take this the wrong way when I say it but, it's really not my story to tell.”

 

Ruby brushes the hair back from the blonde's forehead and stands up from the shared booth.

 

“I’m going to go for an evening stroll. Do me a favor and lock up after yourself?” 

 

Emma nods her affirmation weakly, not trusting herself to do much else.

 

“Sleep tight Em. Try not to disappear before morning.” 

  
Ruby slips through the front door and  into the crisp night leaving Emma alone with plenty to think about for the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we'll finally get to see Henry and Emma meet for the first time (?) and maybe Emma will finally get to talk to Regina for more than a few minutes in a staff meeting or in passing...
> 
> Leave a review and let me know what you're thinking! I would love to hear from you!

**Author's Note:**

> hugely indebted to many great authors before me who have written far greater SQ Hogwarts Teacher AU's like (but not limited to!) acautionarytale & amycarey.


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